


Memoria

by Pherae



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Gen, I regret most of this because it made me sad, Memories, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-14 02:45:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9155323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pherae/pseuds/Pherae
Summary: Aymeric's life was not one borne of serenity. The hardships he often faced would leave anyone with regrets - and he needs a moment to recount each one.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For a Regret prompt which in turn made me almost regret writing this because it hurt my heart.
> 
> Other characters are mentioned in passing, and there's some obvious implications to relationships if you squint

There was just enough light in the room to see, drawn from the burning hearth that sat in front of the couch. It cast a gentle warmth as Aymeric seated himself, eyes passing over the dancing flames once, twice, before turning his attention to the object in his palm. He was already doubting this decision. 

In his palm sat a leather tome, simple and lacking the fine decor of most Ishgardian books he would normally hold. Within, the pages were blank - cream colored and lifeless, and as he hurriedly flicked through each one, he began to wonder just what would occupy them when he began writing. He wasn’t sure where to start with this, or even how detailed he should be.

In fact, this entire situation was rather new to him, if not a bit bizarre.

Lucia had approached him several days prior and handed him the small object, speaking to him on serious grounds that the entire congregation had noticed the way his shoulders seemed tense and his mind seemed everywhere but present. They knew that there were things troubling him - and painfully right there were - but he would be few and far between to actually admit to it. A lifelong list of problems, if he were to speak honestly.

“Take this quill and this book. I know it may seem strange, but ‘tis a method I heard spoken of once in passing. Write your problems and regrets within, and then burn the book.” Lucia spoke to him, and she must have seen the dumbfounded look upon his face, because she immediately heaved a sigh. 

_“Trust me.”_

So, here he sat, trying to do just that. 

Aymeric opened it to the first page, dipping the quill in ink before lightly pecking it against the paper, “yet where do I even begin?” 

From the beginning, he supposed. A series of regrets that started when he were as young as he could remember. A troubled child living a troubled childhood, facing far more hardships than one his age should have faced, but ones that certainly helped to build him up to who he became.

The quill began to move as he began to recall.

His dear, sweet mother - hair of ebony and flowing like the wind, the slight curl of her locks accentuating her delicate face. Though he could not recall her name, her piercing deep blue eyes were committed to his memory. So warm and soft compared to his father’s fierce and sharp… it was perhaps the only thing that he received from him that he could state with minor pride.

Aymeric regretted the day she left, and how he couldn’t find an ounce of strength in his tiny body to stop her.

“It is for your own betterment,” he remembers her speaking, voice a hushed whisper as she drew the cloak tighter to her figure, clasping his small hands in her slightly shaking ones, “I fear word shall soon break about your heritage. No one must know, for I fear what they will do to you should they discover it.”

It was for the sake of both he and her, Aymeric knew - but it was something he didn’t wish to admit. Would he be present now, he would have told her flatly that it wasn’t an issue. He could weather the assault against both of them and shield her while doing so. She didn’t need to leave him behind to be cared for by a mother and father that weren’t his own by blood.

He only wished he could have told her to stay, instead of watching her retreating form and wondering why - through tears and quiet sobs - that his mother would wish to leave him just as his father did.

A sharp dot at the end of the page signaled the memory’s end, and he turned it to another to begin anew. 

Aymeric recalled when he first joined the Temple Knights. 

It was a long journey, filled with hardships and aching hands as he struggled to learn the bow. Though his aim was far from perfect when he first began, he found himself growing better and better as time progressed. Eventually, he was recognized for his aim - after receiving a test from his squad’s captain and passing successfully, he was allowed in the field and assigned his first mission. 

It was where he met Estinien, his dearest friend and faithful companion.

When he loosed an arrow into that dragon’s eye, he was filled with a sense of pride as the dragoon struck it down with a blow that was nothing short of incredible. Aymeric wasn’t one to boast, but as Estinien talked him up at just how amazing of a shot it was, he couldn’t help but hold himself in high regards. So, it was natural that the next mission would come with ease, if he were capable of landing his mark perfectly on a fully grown dragon. 

The quill stopped a moment as his hand froze, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. 

Reaching forward, he grabbed the glass that was half filled with wine, took a drink to clear his head, and resumed his writing. 

“I let him die.” Aymeric remembers repeating, over and over again, as he stared blankly at the bow in his hands. 

A younger knight, one he had grown familiar with during his training, was killed before his very eyes, though not by dragonfire or crushed in the maws of a beast. A band of heretics had assaulted their camp when they were ill prepared, slaughtering most of his squad. It was just he and a few others that were left by the time the commotion broke. 

Then, he saw him. 

The knight was knelt, tending to a fallen soldier and trying to see if they were still among them, when Aymeric noticed a shadow quickly approaching him. He knocked an arrow, prepared to fire. His aim was true, his aim was perfect- 

And he froze. 

The one moving closer to the knight was far smaller than the rest, appearing no older than the age of thirteen. A child. Brandishing a knife and quickly approaching with hastened steps towards the one that was fully unaware. 

Aymeric’s hands shook. It was only a _child,_ how could he possibly fire? He was certainly not told that the heretics began so young, that there would be children also at war with them. There were many things he could do, he told himself - injuring a child, or worse, was not one of them. 

He remembered the blood, seeing the knife go straight through the back of the unsuspecting knight’s throat. He remembered the trembling of his hands, and the cry the left his lips as he was forced to fire. True to his thoughts, his aim was perfect. He knew he had hit his mark, but Aymeric had already lowered his head and turned before he could truly make sure. 

An innocent life lost by his own hand, because he was too at war with his inner morals to loose his arrow. 

He wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse that no one blamed him, because no one knew of his hesitation, and when he brought himself to blame before his captain it was dismissed with the wave of a hand. 

It was a painful memory, and he needed to lean back in his seat a moment and rest his head before he were to continue. The book was filling fast with the etchings of his black ink, but there was still so much to cover. So many things to finally get off his chest, and though he initially doubted this at first, it was somehow working. 

Things were beginning to seem less clouded and the weight on his mind was slowly lifting.

“Fury take these accursed memories,” Aymeric hissed as he once more began to write, “trouble me no longer.”

Haurchefant demanded an entire section all to himself. 

Such a noble man, one felled by his own hand, albeit indirectly. Had Aymeric not been so stubborn, had he only listened and not marched off to present accusations to his father with his head held high, maybe the middle child of the Fortemps family would still be among them. If things had just gone differently…

He’d such history with the man, if he were to be asked about him. They had grown up together, one protecting the other as they tried their best to get through life. Haurchefant was his childhood best friend, one whom he had sworn to protect.

Now, Aymeric was the reason he was gone, and his brow furrowed as he glared furiously at the pages he scribbled upon.

Aymeric wasn’t sure which he regretted more - not being able to save Haurchefant and indirectly causing his death, or seeing the pain that flooded the Warrior of Light’s eyes as they were forced to watch their beloved die before them. 

He was so sure they were going to blame him, despise him for bringing about this turn of events.

Yet, they didn’t, they held him still in high regards and continued to fight for his cause - once more, he wasn’t sure if this was a blessing or a curse. 

Perhaps the Twelve above were playing some form of sick joke upon him. No one blamed him, though he certainly blamed himself. The lack of fingers pointing his way only served to make his guilt worse, by some form thereof. It was a matter he had spoken to both Lucia and Estinien about several times, and once more they both assured him that everything was alright, he was not in the wrong for any of this. 

Aymeric growled as he flicked the page over, proceeding to haphazardly drag his pen across the blankness. A flurry of lines, strewn about until the middle section was entirely coated black. It was the etchings of fury, and it was doing wonders at calming him down.

The furious sounds of a pen scratching against blank canvas did wonders to soothe his nerves. 

Then, he realized - there were only a few pages left. All was filled, except for them. As his icy blue eyes trailed over them, it was hard to mask the sorrow that flooded them. 

_Estinien._

Slowly, he pressed the quill’s tip against the page and his writing began, albeit slower and filled with a bit more delicacy. 

The man was hard to get along with, at first. He was rough around the edges, driven by his goals and focusing purely on what was laid before him at present. Estinien didn’t seem to be a man that lived in the past, or the future - he didn’t seem to often dwell on what ifs, only what will be. 

Aymeric looked up to him, for that fact. While he was too busy worrying over his future and dreading his past mistakes once more emerging to haunt him, Estinien was taking care of the present. The dragoon was strong. Far stronger than he could ever be, he once thought. 

It was perhaps a miracle that their friendship even blossomed to begin with. After their first night together with a drink at the bar, Estinien seemed as though he wanted nothing more to do with him - but Aymeric persisted. When he learned that the man seemed to have no friends and was generally regarded as a lone wolf, it only spurred him to try harder. 

The day Estinien first called him a friend was the day that Aymeric smiled wider than he could ever remember, face beaming with pride and seeming to almost unnerve the dragoon with the way his eyes lit up at the declaration. 

Their bonds grew tighter over the years, and eventually became something far more. It was companionship. Love, Aymeric supposed. Something they both felt, and both acted upon with one another. 

He couldn’t quite recall ever a time before where his heart had felt so filled and whole.

 _Then_ \- Aymeric’s quill began to write faster and far more frantic - _then,_ Nidhogg ripped him away from him. 

He regretted not being there. Sending the Warrior of Light off with Estinien, Alphinaud, Y’shtola and Cid’s crew should have been enough. They felled his father and ended the reign of The Heaven’s Ward, but had returned with a cloud of gloom looming over them, and the Azure Dragoon missing from their airship. 

At first, Aymeric didn’t mention it, hoping Estinien had merely hopped off elsewhere to see to other matters before returning, just like always.

It was hard to hide the slight shake in his voice as he would reply to Midgardsormr once he learned of Estinien’s fate, saying his name in a tone that sounded near broken, and thankful was he that no one saw to comment on it at the time. 

_If only he could have been there._

Aymeric knows not what he could have done, only that perhaps, by some twist of fate, he could have stopped Estinien from picking up the second eye. Ripped it from his grasp when he begun to shake and spasm, before Nidhogg had a true hold on his body. The options played over in his mind from the moment he heard the story from the Warrior of Light. 

He could not say this was his strongest regret - everything that he had written had all bothered him equally, none worse than the other. The last, however, stung the worst. A fresh wound, covering the layers of scars upon his heart.

With a quiet exhale, he placed the quill on the table and downed what was left of his wine. 

The pages were filled, Aymeric noticed, as he flipped through each one to examine its contents. Everything that had plagued him the most severely, contained within its leather bound walls. It seemed almost a shame to fling his past hours of work away, but it was part of the process. 

As he stood, Aymeric took a deep breath. 

Again, Lucia was correct. He certainly felt better to get it all off his mind. Never once had he considered writing it down rather than just telling someone about it, but somehow, doing so worked better than voicing his despairs. 

He took a moment, looking at the small book that fit nicely in the palm of his hand, before turning his attention to the fire. 

The flames enveloped it in a hurry as he flung the book within, feeding off the pages and turning the tome slowly to ash. A small smile crept to his lips as he watched it wither away, seating himself with his head propped into his hand as the heat consumed all. All of his troubles and major regrets of his past, though they were still ever present in his mind, seemed… quieter now. 

The flames carried them away, finally leaving him at peace as he closed his eyes and listened to the crackling hearth. 

Somehow, he couldn’t wait for the morning - tomorrow was a new day. It was time to let go of the past, and focus on the present. To clear his mind and find ways to remove the debris that plagued his path currently. 

No more mistakes, no more what ifs, no more friends lost.

_No more regrets._

**Author's Note:**

> I really need to write something fluffy to remedy all of the sad i've been putting out lately, i'm sorry


End file.
